The Only Daughter
by ithinkinink
Summary: There's a reason why I won the Hunger Games. Not because I wanted to live and not because I wanted to be rich. I won the Hunger Games because my family would suffer if I didn't.  No one told me they would die anyways. The victor of the 71st Hunger Games.
1. The Woods

_Author's Note: I completely redid this whole chapter. I didn't like my first attempt so, viola! Please read and rate! :)_

Although I'm not allowed to be doing a _man's _job, I do it just to show I can. My family's okay with it, because they know I can take care of myself. Marcus is hard on me though, telling me if I can complete a masculine task, then I shouldn't still be treated as a girl. I could care less how people see me, but I still like to look like a girl.

The Peacekeepers make it clear that only men are allowed to use axes for chopping wood. But seriously? What can grubby, drunk guys do to me? Plus, my brothers and I have been chopping wood since we could walk, it's not like we're completely useless. Still, I have to pretend I help make paper though. Unfortunately, Marcus and Tate do get the credit for it, and I'm kind of behind-the-scenes, but I've gotten really good at it, lying and all.

For home, we have separate jobs when it comes to trees. I secretly get the wood, Marcus crafts it into furniture, and Tate, with his cunning words, sells it. There was a time when neither of them were allowed to venture through the forest. But after Dad worked his way up the social ladder, the Peacekeepers generally thought of him as a devoted supplier to the Capitol. Though, there's always a price. So we have to work twice as hard and get twice as much wood than everyone else. We've been doing it for years. Sometimes it's not that bad but lately we've been having trouble making the cut. If we were to fail, even once, there would be consequences.

I'm on my daily routine to bring back wood before breakfast. The sun is barely up and I already have a fair amount of wood. It's still kind of dark out so not many people will notice it's me. I take the time to practice throwing with my axe, one Dad gave me for my birthday one year.

Seeing a tree with part of its bark coming off, I grab the rough edge and yank the strip of bark off the tree. The bald spot becomes my next target. I walk several yards away and turn on my heel with my eyes closed. Whatever strength I can muster is thrust into my throw. After a satisfying sound of my axe making contact with the tree, I open my eyes. The cheek of the blade is almost completely embedded in the small light spot. Though, I'm not happy with it. Things would be easier if I was stronger the day I got this axe.

It was the winter I turned nine years old. Evening was nearing so I decided to bring some logs home for the fireplace. Following a tiny trail through the east side of the forest, I found a nice fir tree that I could easily send my father's axe straight through, even with my limited strength. Right when I was about to take the first swing, a voice startled me. I didn't know the brown-haired boy that stood before me. But I knew I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He asked if I knew only men were allowed to use axes. I knew very well girls were forbidden to but I was too afraid to answer the question. He closed the distance with his long legs, stopped, and said in a dark voice, "You shouldn't have come here."

His hands made their way around my neck faster than I could blink. Stunned, I dropped the axe and clawed at the fingers constricting my throat. The hatred in his golden eyes scared me. His grip around my neck too tight. I could feel my feet lift off the ground, my head start to pound, and tears pool in my eyes. _He's going to kill me_, I thought. _I'm going to die here._ It took all the power I had to say one word.

"Please," I begged. And right then, he dropped me. I hit the ground gasping as air scraped the inside of my air pipe, desperately trying to get oxygen to my lungs. It didn't take me long to notice an axe in my attacker's spine. My brother, Marcus, calmly walked toward me and picked up my axe.

"This was one of Dad's favorites," he said, inspecting it, almost oblivious to the fact I was slipping in and out of consciousness. "Good thing no blood got on it," he said with a smile.

I remember thinking two clear thoughts before passing out: one was how determined the golden-eyed boy was to end my life, and two, how easily it was for Marcus to end his. Sometimes it still gets to me, how callously he killed him, but I've accepted the fact that he did the right thing. That if he wasn't there, then I wouldn't be here, angrily hitting a tree.

"Someone will see that," says a voice, pointing to the mark my axe made.

I whip around, surprised I didn't hear anyone come up behind me.

"Well, not if I chop it down," I mutter.

Marcus unfolds his arms and gets off the tree he was leaning on.

"You still need to be careful," he says as he takes my axe out of the tree. "You always think you're free to do whatever you want."

"Oh, really? Because last time I checked, it's not that easy living with an older brother who won't shut up," I fire back.

"Not as bad as a younger brother who scams you out of your profits."

I laugh this time. "That's true. So, what brings you out here?"

He looks at me with an eyebrow raised. "You really don't know, huh?"

And then I realize.

In a few hours, two kids will be taken to the Capitol.

There's a good chance they won't make it back. But that doesn't stop Marcus from wanting to be one of them.


	2. The Reaping

_Author's Note: I completely redid this whole chapter. I didn't like my first attempt so, viola! Please read and rate! :)_

A cold breeze whips my long brown hair around my face and neck. I stare at the mayor as he struggles to hold down his papers for his speech. He introduces our district's past victors. We have eight. All of them are male and range from ages 34 to 76. They sit in chairs towards the back of the stage. The mayor begins talking about Panem's history and how the Capitol rules its twelve districts.

I stand in between Marcus and Tate as District 7's escort bobs her way to the podium after the mayor finishes. She's so short only her head appears from behind it.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she booms. Despite her height, Lucky Wevett is still loud as ever.

I ignore Lucky's outrageous purple outfit and babbling until she starts to announce this year's tributes.

"Now without further ado, this year's female tribute is..." she reaches in the glass bowl.

"Johanna Mason!"

And just like that. No warning, no sign. I look to my left. Marcus looks down and I can tell he's fighting off the urge to lash out at everyone. I turn to Tate and his eyes make contact with mine for a split second before he motions to the stage with his head. As if to say, "don't keep them waiting."

It's me. I've been picked for the Hunger Games. This isn't supposed to happen. I think of how Marcus told me he was going to be a tribute this year, regardless if his name is drawn or not, he intends to return home as a victor. I just put a hole in his fool-proof plan. Since I've taken his spot, I know Marcus won't volunteer now.

So, I'll make the most out of it. The way I see it, I can do Marcus' job. I've been doing it for years. How hard can it be? To the public, I'll be the nine year old girl in the woods, weak and pathetic. And when the time comes, I'll be Marcus, deadly and vicious. I take shaky steps to the stage as fake tears flood my eyes. Though I really can't believe it. I had eight entries. I've only had to take tesserae three times. And yet, I got picked. But it is what it is, and unless there's volunteers, which there probably won't be, there's no point in trying to change things. I stand next to Lucky while I sob dramatically.

"Congratulations! Such a cute girl!" she exclaims. Her remark only further angers me. What I really want to do is punch her in the face but if I did I'd surely get crippled at the least. You never know what the Capitol is capable of. Though, I don't need to be reminded. I already know how cruel they can be.

They killed my mother when she ran away. She couldn't handle all the stress. But she didn't look back when she left. She wasn't right in the head at the time, but I'm not making excuses for her either. If only she could see me now, standing in the front of the country as a tribute for District 7.

Lucky asks for volunteers, and like I've predicted, no one steps up for me, the crying girl that is sure to die.

"No matter. Gentlemen, you're up next!" she quickly dismisses. She grabs a second slip from another bowl. "Arlo Shum!"

A fourteen year old. Short brown hair, tall, and skinny.

Great.

Arlo has no emotion whatsoever walking to the stage. Interesting. I've seen him a few times during school. He's keeps to himself a lot.

Lucky, too, congratulates him. His face is still stone. And again, no volunteers. I find Marcus' face. He's pissed. He wouldn't dare volunteer. It would kill my father, losing two children and a wife. But if dying wasn't a factor in the Games, he would be up here in a heartbeat, and we would take everyone down.

After the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, Arlo and I shake hands. His hand is damp and sweaty and I know immediately that his emotionless facade is all an act. Sweating in this weather would be near to impossible. I'm about to lose all faith in this kid, when I catch the glint in his eyes. His golden eyes. The same eyes that almost killed me seven years ago. This will make everything harder. When I'm not trying to strangle this little brat, I'm going to have to be a sniveling weakling.


End file.
